


Baby Steps

by Koreisai



Series: Dust to dust [1]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Breaking Up & Making Up, Canon-Typical Violence, Childbirth, Drama & Romance, F/F, Fade to Black, Genderbending, Sibling Incest, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 11:37:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19375936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Koreisai/pseuds/Koreisai
Summary: If anyone had ever asked Vergil how it happened, she wouldn’t have had the voice to answer. It felt like an accident, but to name it so would have been to imply her oblivious to the nature of unprotected sex. The truth was, she had been prepared― just not for this.





	Baby Steps

 

 

It had been an accident. 

 

If anyone had ever asked Vergil how it happened, she wouldn’t have had the voice to answer. It had felt like an accident, but to name it so would have been to imply her oblivious to the nature of unprotected sex. The truth was, she had been prepared. Vergil never harbored even the remote intention of allowing a pregnancy, and when the impulse arose (impulse, for it was never something so weak as a need) she made sure that her partner for the night would never stain her insides with his seed.

 

But see, even the most meticulous person could be fooled by the allure of a memory. This man had felt different. Had fucked her so deeply, so passionately, she couldn’t help but remember the feel of the unnamable, the prohibited. In the end, that was all he was: a shadow of the real thing. Leaving after the act had been easy, the string cut cleanly and painlessly. 

 

Only, her body betrayed her for the first time. Contraception failed, and the spawn inside her developed without her knowing. By the time she noticed, it was too late. 

 

Vergil’s worst mistake, reflected back at her in  the mirror; the bloated belly that was starting to show on her otherwise perfect physique. Her vest couldn’t hide it anymore. This is what happened when she indulged, she thought. The consequence of opening herself for a night; a minute of vulnerability. Months of preparation gone up in smoke, her goal of reaching the legend that was the Dark Knight Sparda now beyond her grasp. 

 

Or was it? 

 

Yamato was there, bathed in moonlight. It would be easy. The temptation was overwhelming. It could be done and her body would shrug off the wound like it was nothing, no evidence left on the planes of her flawless skin. 

 

Vergil reached for the katana, the lacquer of the saya cool against her hand. If she did this, she could pretend absolutely nothing happened. Pretend, like a fool. 

 

In the mirror, her own eyes stared back. In her mind, her mother’s voice, gentle like her touch as she lovingly brushed Vergil’s hair. _You’re beautiful, Vergil._ Dante, recently, her fiery spirit and rage: _you heartless bitch, how could you side with our mother’s killers?!_

 

It would be easy. 

 

Vergil didn’t do easy.

 

Preparations needed to be made. To stay in Fortuna was folly, for the Order of the Sword would surely notice her with time. Nevermind the father, who had been as uninterested as her in fathering a child. This little unborn creature was her blood, her flesh and above all, a Sparda. As such, that would be the name that they would inherit, not some fool of a human name.  

 

Vergil knew that the torrent of complications needed to be addressed. Her lack of education on childcare for starters, her lack of a home, income; a list that only seemed to get longer with every exhausting circumstance that came to her mind. As she paced the small hotel room, her thoughts spiraled out of control: would her body facilitate the birth? Where could she go? She needed a safe haven, books to study, new clothes to fit her better as she traveled, clothes to dress the child― 

 

Easy. She needed to breathe. Without Vergil noticing it, her pulse had accelerated, and her hands had begun to shake faintly. Taking a deep breath, Vergil took a seat on the bed, posture straight, Yamato’s reassuring weight in her hands. 

 

There was also the issue of Arkham. The man was mad– it was obvious that he had come to her with ulterior motives. If he knew she was vulnerable with child, he would surely turn against her. 

 

The Demon Tower started to lose appeal by the minute. She wanted to go to the Underworld, sure, find her father if he was still alive, obtain power so great that nothing would ever hurt her again. But now, the cost was too high. Vergil couldn’t govern the Underworld and leave her child at the mercy of ignorant humans or bloodthirsty demons, alone in a world where they would never survive. 

 

Vergil remembered then, with startling and bitter accuracy, the acrid taste of abandonment. How cruel the world could be to a child with no family, no home, no money or power. Pangs of hunger so painful that left her gasping, filthy words pressed into her ear as foreign hands tore apart her dress. The warm sensation of blood in her hands. 

 

Never again. Vergil would take death first. 

 

Steeling herself, she grabbed her meager belongings and set to work. First, caution needed to be advised, information spread. Only a handful of people could challenge Arkham, and if she didn’t warn her stupid sister then Dante was sure to fall into the man’s trap. 

 

*

 

Dante, the absolute fool, was hunting her. 

 

Vergil could feel her, like the push and pull of the tides, their connection revealing her own position as ripples in a still pond. 

 

It was an exhilarating game, but she detested the vulnerability of her position. It was not in her nature to run from danger, but to face it and grow stronger from it. However, fighting Dante in her state was impossible: at almost nine months pregnant, battle was reserved only for the most dire situations. Sooner or later, Dante would find out, but the later that happened, the better. 

 

The story of Temen-ni-gru had spread, Dante’s victory an unavoidable truth. Whatever happened in Red Grave City had apparently made her stronger. Good. Excellent even. Vergil could appreciate a challenge. If she hated anything more than weakness, it would be inadequacy. 

 

In any other circumstance, she would already be opening a portal to a new location or preparing to face her dear sister, but as a new set of contractions starts she knows that it would be impossible.  It would take Dante at least a day to reach this town and Vergil only needed a couple of seconds to rip the veil of space. With Yamato at her side, she would never be caught. 

 

On her knees, half submerged in a tub of warm water, Vergil resolved to forget about Dante for the moment. She couldn’t trust a human midwife, so distractions couldn’t be afforded.  

 

_It’s alright_ , she thought as her body tensed, _I will endure the pain._

 

It took hours. The longest night of her life. Pain so great it couldn’t be compared to anything she had fought. A constant battle where pushing was her only weapon and screaming the only outlet for her pain. Vergil bit her lip until she tasted her own blood, punched the tiled wall until it broke. The whole ordeal was insufferable until finally, _finally_ , it gave in. Vergil felt the, for all sense and purpose, parasite leave her body and a wave of relief hit her. It was done. She took a couple of seconds to breathe and control the beat of her heart. The water was red with her blood. 

 

As she raised the little creature from the water, Vergil finally saw the face of her progeny. A new Sparda. A boy, red faced, screaming and crying like only newborns do as soon as he took his first mouthful of air. 

 

His hair was white and his arm, undoubtedly demonic. This was her son. A warmth that she hadn’t felt in years surrounded her heart. She cut the cord and took another hour in the water so her body could expel the rest, and as Vergil rested and healed, she took her son in her arms. He was voracious, couldn’t even support his own head, but was already searching for her breast. 

 

Nero. The strong. This would be his name. 

 

*

 

Maybe it had been a mistake to say she couldn't be caught. What had truly been surprising was by who, or more accurately, by what.

 

The temperature dropped once again, and Vergil wrapped Nero a little bit more tightly, curling around him as best as she could. The cold was merciless, leaving goosebumps on her skin, even wrapped as she was in all the blankets she had found and with a kindled fire in the hearth. Her breath left her as white smoke and outside, the storm raged on. It had caught her by surprise, but it's origin wasn't natural; consequently, natural means couldn't protect her from it.

 

Three Shivas converged at a safe distance from the cabin, circling and patiently waiting for the cold to kill them both. Hiding as the demons were, to go outside and search for them would be a death sentence for her child. Worse, a binding spell had been placed on the forest surrounding them, so nobody could leave until the one responsible was killed. As such, no portals could be opened. No escape. 

 

All had been premeditated. Someone wanted her son dead; some fool had dared to try and take her Nero. Vengeance would come later, Vergil thought, as she tried to contain her rage. For now, her priority needed to be how to kill the Shivas without leaving Nero vulnerable. If she left him by the fire, could she kill them fast enough? She never doubted her own abilities but this frigid landscape was their domain. On the other hand, if she stayed inside the cold would kill him. Vergil dared to take a peek at his face: her son, beautiful Nero, was ravaged by shivers. His lips were turning blue. 

 

The decision was taken from her.

 

Outside, an unmistakable presence killed the first Shiva. Vergil felt dread clutch her in a vice grip, as the unearthly scream of the demon shook the fragile windows of the cabin. A couple of minutes later, a second scream. Immediately, the temperature started to rise steadily and her son's shivers subsided. His hands reach out, grabbing the long strands of Vergil's hair. 

 

It seemed the inevitable happened; her sister's stubbornness finally paid off. In any case, dealing with Dante was a price worth the life of her child. 

 

Vergil composed herself as best as she could, even though it would be impossible to fool Dante in her state. The sound of bullets fired and a shriek, then silence. The storm subsided, but Vergil stayed seated on the floor, eyes resolutely ahead. 

 

Any second now. 

 

The bang of the door opened by a kick left her unfazed. Such were the brutish ways of her sister.

 

*

 

The moment Dante received the message, she knew exactly who had sent it. 

 

The smell was her first clue. The letter had rested in the lapels of her sister's jacket, absorbed her fancy perfume. Second, the immaculate handwriting. There was no signature, but it wasn't like Vergil was trying to stay anonymous. If she had, it would have been impossible to identify the sender. She wouldn't had made such stupid mistakes. 

 

Unwelcome were the memories of the last time she met Vergil. Barely a year ago, they had fallen together in the deadliest and most sinful dance of all; painted crimson the soil of their battleground, tasted each other’s blood and the edge of the steel crafted by their own father. The battle had been brutal, and the aftermath even worse. They had destroyed Dante’s poor excuse of a flat, definitely broke her bed. Dante can still feel Vergil’s nails― no, her claws, raking across her back as their hips had fallen into a decadent rhythm; rubbing, kissing, biting, eating each other alive― 

 

Unconsciously, Dante clenches her fist around her amulet. Just the memory gives her a full body shudder. Vergil hadn’t even stayed the night. 

 

Later, at the summit of Temen-ni-gru, Arkham would prove her earlier hypothesis correct. In his madness to obtain Sparda’s demonic power, he would curse Vergil's name, calling her a whore and a traitor, for revealing his plans before the time was ripe, for turning against him. Dante would have loved to put a bullet to his head for opening his damn mouth, but Lady beat her to the punch. As it was, all she could do was spit on his ugly mug after it was done. 

 

Dante could have let bygones be bygones and lived her life. Forgot about her twin sister, who didn't have the guts to face her. Vergil, who abandoned her. Vergil, her stupid big sister, obsessed with power. 

 

But was that really all there is? Dante couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. It was like an itch that wouldn't leave her alone. Why would Vergil abandon her elaborate plan? It didn't make sense; Vergil never did things halfways. Her frigid twin would work towards a goal with the single mindedness that she could have only inherited from their mother. The only way she could be diverted was if something more urgent had come up, something more valuable. But what could possibly be more valuable than her opportunity to attain their father's strength? 

 

Something was missing.

 

It took a lot of work, money, and begging, but she managed to convince Lady to lend her motorcycle. It would be the start of her infinite debt to the woman. She took the essentials: her weapons, brand new clothes (the kind that allowed for generous cleavage of course), and a map. 

 

Tracking a woman capable of moving through space with only a flick of her sword was frustrating at best, impossible at worst. But never let it be said that Dante wasn't as stubborn as a dog with a bone.

 

Vergil moved from city to city, town to town; from villages in the middle of nowhere to little cottages in the coast. There was only so much ground Dante could cover alone, but with every room she discovered, full of her sister's scent and tracks, she only grew more determined. She was slowly but surely discovering the pattern. 

 

In reality, Vergil probably already knew Dante was hunting her. There was something different about her though, not bad but… off. Vergil had left behind a blanket at one of her safe houses, casually draped over a lone chair. Forgotten in her haste. She was getting sloppy, desperate for something, and it would only take one lucky shot to finally catch her. As Dante brought the sheet to her face, inhaling as deeply as she could, there was Vergil's scent and the trace of a very specific smell that left her dumbfounded.

 

Milk. She could smell milk on the fabric. Not from an animal or anything of the sort. The distinct smell that came from human mothers and breastfed children. Dante went to the bathroom and there, the smell of Vergil's blood was sharp, impossible to miss. It had been drained from the bathtub, but it was there. 

 

It couldn’t be. Dante's mind was collapsing in upon itself. She couldn't believe it. 

 

Was Vergil preg―  

 

No. Impossible. Better not to assume anything. It had to be a mistake. 

 

She took the blanket with her anyways. 

 

*

 

There is no mistake. 

 

Dante's smartass comment dies on her tongue as she takes in the image before her. Vergil, her proud and immaculate twin, on the floor with a bundle in her arms and Yamato within reach, surrounded by blankets and anything that could provide warmth. Little hands reach for her hair, clutching it and letting out soft noises of delight. 

 

"...Vergil?"

 

There is a glorious scowl on her face. 

 

"Close the door, Dante." 

 

Unfortunately, the hinges had broken with her kick. Feeling embarrassed for the first time since childhood, Dante takes a chair to support the door, if only to have an excuse to put her mind back in order. 

 

Once it was done, she takes an extra second to prepare herself. Dante still can’t believe it. 

 

"Stop stalling, little sister," Vergil says. Dante faces her once again and Vergil looks down on her even from her lower position on the floor. 

 

"Come here, meet your nephew." 

 

Dante can immediately feel anger bubbling under her skin. How dare she. All these months running after her, searching like mad, and Vergil has the gall to talk to her in such a tone. As she gets closer and kneels beside Vergil, Dante makes sure her displeasure is as clear as possible on her face. No amusement for Vergil this time.

 

"We _will_ talk about this." 

 

Her sister says nothing to that, unwraps the bundle in her arms a little looser and the face that greets Dante warms her to the core. 

 

She can't help herself, cooing at the precious thing in Vergil's arms. She hasn't cooed at babies like, ever, avoiding them like the plague but. But. The distinct white hair of Sparda's blood, the unmistakably  demonic arm; definitely Vergil's child. 

 

Her nephew.

 

"What's your name, cute little pup?" 

 

"Nero." 

 

A boy, a beautiful one at that. Plush cheeks, blue eyes, looking at her curiously. Dante dares to softly touch his temple and Vergil allows it, noticing that he's warming now that the Shivas are dead. His skin is incredibly soft, so vulnerable and delicate. He has Vergil's scent all over him and something softer, completely his own; whatever it is, it wakes in Dante the instinct to protect, to wrap herself around them both. 

 

She hates to admit it, but her love for her sister hasn't waned at all. Even the bitter sting of betrayal, to know that she let a man touch her and claim her, that she dared to try and break the seal to the underworld; none of it stops Dante from loving her as she does. As she shouldn't. 

 

Unfortunately, love is nothing but a reflection of hate. Hate that she has to spare and it’s so much easier to express; it burns out of her mouth and spills between her lips, leaving an acrid taste in its wake. 

 

"A cute demon spawn, born from my own frigid sister,” Dante says, anger lacing every word. “How old is he, exactly?" 

 

Vergil ignores her first comment. “Five months.”

 

"Why didn't you come to me?" Dante asks, bitterness in her voice. "I would have helped you."

 

Nero grabs her finger tightly. Dante’s heart breaks for him. 

 

"It was something that I needed to do on my own."

 

"Bullshit. You don't have to do anything alone." 

 

"He's my son― " 

 

"Damn right he is,” Dante interrupts swiftly. “And you know what?"

 

She takes the opening and runs Vergil through with her words.

 

"If I hadn't been here, if I hadn't caught up to you, he would be dead." 

 

Vergil’s eyes snap to Dante at her words, looks at her with hate so vicious Dante can see her demonic aura rise around her as manifestation of it. Blue flames flickering in and out of existence as her hand, with clinical care, removes Nero’s hold on Dante. She rises fluidly with Nero and the Yamato in hand, her movements precise and contained. No part of Vergil’s body betrays her deadly resolve, but Dante doesn’t need to guess how this reunion is going to end.

 

Dante rises as well, watching as her sister accommodates Nero in a lonely basket. Her mind is telling her to shut up, but it’s like a flood. Maybe Vergil decided against raising that damn tower at the last second, but it doesn’t change the facts: Vergil is ready to burn down the world in her search for power and she doesn’t give a fuck about Dante. If anything, Nero is as vulnerable as the rest of humanity.

 

“Are you going to leave him to rot in some orphanage? What’s your next big plan?” 

 

“Dante.” First warning.

 

“You said so yourself, he’s my nephew. I just worry about him, yeah?”

 

“ _Dante.”_

 

“Or not! Maybe you’re gonna make him your little prince of Hell.” 

 

Vergil doesn’t say anything this time, looks back at her stoically, a tight grip on her blade. Her lack of response leaves Dante disappointed, should have been a signal to shut her damn mouth, but Dante knows no self-preservation.  

 

Nero is a sore spot that Dante isn’t afraid to poke.

 

“Will you abandon him, like you did with me?”

 

 Of course, she pays the price, as was expected from her big sister.  

 

Vergil decides to move, and when she does, it’s like a phantom. So fast, Dante barely reacts. She grabs Dante with brutal precision and slams her against the door with supernatural strength. The wood from both the door and its improvised chair lock shatters against her back. 

 

Outside, Dante rolls into a crouch in the thin layer of snow, deftly brings out Ivory, but then she remembers little Nero in his improvised crib. The sudden noise startled him and she can hear his cries. It’s too risky to use her guns, and that second of indecision is all Vergil needs to reach her with her characteristic speed.

 

She was expecting a blade to the gut, but it seems this time Vergil needs to impart punishment with her own hands. The punch feels like a train hammering into her head, slamming her back into the ground. It’s so powerful, black dots obscure her vision. Vergil doesn’t even break a sweat, grabs her by her coat and hauls Dante back to her feet. 

 

“Tell me, _sister_ , what exactly do you know of abandonment?” 

 

Dante struggles to retain her bearings, grabs Vergil’s forearm with the same kind of strength. The strain would have broken a regular human’s arm, but Vergil is made of the same demonic resilience. She doesn’t let go. 

 

“How did it feel to run from our legacy? Liberating?”

 

“What’re you even sayin―” 

 

“Did you enjoy your life as _Tony Redgrave?_ ” Vergil spits the name with obvious venom. 

 

“What― ” 

 

“ _Shut up, Dante._ ” 

 

Dante grabs Rebellion by the hilt, but doesn’t raise her edge, concedes her silence. In the open, moonlight brings out in stark focus Vergil’s face, her imperious rage. Her hair reflects the light as a crown of frost.

 

Even in her fury, Dante feels captivated by her older sister. 

 

“You were ready to forget everything about our name. About our life,” Vergil says, eyes blazing blue. Dark-blue scales surface along her cheek, only to disappear an instant later. “But I haven’t forgotten that it’s human weakness that took our mother, and I refuse to be the same as her.” 

 

Vergil’s face contours in a snarl, her fangs bared. It’s incredible that it took so much to make her sister speak to her once again. 

 

“I‘ll not abandon Nero, for he is my blood. I don’t care if I have to fight the world, but he’s mine and when the time comes, I’ll dethrone Mundus and _nothing_ will stand in my way.”

 

There’s three pregnant seconds of silence where Dante can’t help but wonder howVergil can be so smart but so dumb at the same time. Vergil is, as always, her own brand of idiot— and Dante has never been afraid to speak her mind. 

 

“You’re an idiot.”

 

Vergil looks ready to punch Dante again; Dante had better make her furious second of incredulity count.

 

“Don’t you see? They’ve already caught up to you!” 

 

“I will protect―,” Vergil stops herself; there is a weird kind of desperation in her eyes and the way she grinds her teeth. Probably meant to say Nero, but Dante is tired of her sister’s stubbornness. Vergil must think that she can face any task, any foe, all by herself. 

 

If only she had a way to see herself the way Dante does.

 

“You’re dead on your feet, you pompous, insufferable woman!” Dante feels close to screaming; in the background, Nero keeps crying. 

 

“ _I don’t need your help._ ”

 

Dante bites her lower lip with the kind of frustration that breaks her own skin. Vergil shoves her back, and it looks like there will be no more fighting. After all, she didn’t even draw her sword. Yamato’s energy and the smell of their mixed blood would be like a flare in the middle of the night to any other demons nearby.

 

Dante still has her pride, though. She refuses to beg her sister for anything, but there are other ways of helping Nero. If there’s anything bigger than Vergil’s ego, it’s Dante’s obstinacy. Dante raises her chin, looks back at Vergil with every bit of bullheadedness she can convey in her eyes.

 

“If you won’t let me help, then I’ll just follow you.” 

 

Vergil’s eyes widen a fraction and that’s all Dante needs to know that she’s on the right track. She smiles, feeling oh so gloriously victorious. 

 

“I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth, Vergil. You won’t escape me this time.”

 

Maybe Dante has a concussion. And yeah, she didn’t even get the chance to draw her sword or retaliate in any way, but this fight? This one she **won**.

 

*

 

To think that at some point in her life, she thought that reading all the material she could find about child care would be enough to face the daunting task of your every day, average, _ordinary_ human mother. However, Vergil is no ordinary mother, and Nero is no ordinary baby. 

 

Vergil can’t help but wonder if this is truly how she dies: with baby puke in her hair, said baby crying on her arms and toxic sludge running through her veins. 

 

The Shivas had only been the first of many pursuers. No matter where Vergil went, hordes of demons followed, no doubt sent by the same foul creature who had created the binding spell. A witch, Dante had informed her, and had taken it upon herself to deal with the source of Vergil’s problems. Could this witch have been an ally of Arkhman’s? It was hard to say, but she seemed incredibly determined to hunt Vergil down. . Had Vergil been travelling alone, the demon attacks would have been a mild entertainment. With Nero so dependent on her for security and comfort, however, even a second of inattention could prove fatal. Like now. 

 

Rakshaka were, honestly, a low ranking demon. Scavengers that fed on decay and disease, they sought human corpses or vulnerable prey, opportunistic hunters at best. It was their saliva that was particularly dangerous, a venomous cocktail of demonic bacteria that seeped into the bloodstream and could kill in seconds. 

 

Any other day, she would have felt its approach. Any other day, in which she had had more than two hours of sleep, and she would have slayed the demon before it so much as looked in their direction. Flimsy excuses, the lot of them. She had been trained for worse, had fought worse. Yet it only took the stress of dealing with Nero’s moods and needs, with Dante’s obstinacy, and the Rakshaka had prowled within two meters of Nero’s vulnerable sleeping form.

 

Two meters. Two-hundred centimeters. It had managed to get so close in the mere hour Vergil took to rest. Vergil could see the tension in its muscles― ready to go in for the kill. She only had a fraction of a second to protect Nero.

 

Slow. She was too damn slow. Vergil managed to intercept it before it could strike, but not before it sunk its fangs into her left arm with ruthless savagery. With it’s jaw locked into her flesh, Vergil stabbed it with one precise stroke of her blade. That was all it took for it to dissolve into blood-red crystals. 

 

The commotion was clearly too much for Nero. He starts crying in fear, so much so that as soon as Vergil lifts him up, she can feel his vomit down her top and into her hair. It takes a lot of self-control and discipline to not put him down right away. Instead, Vergil tries to soothe him as best as she can, as she runs a mental scan of their surroundings.

 

Outside, Dante is getting closer to their temporary hideout, driving that absurd motorcycle of hers. Stubborn as a mule, her dear sister; she can feel her vicious bloodlust after a successful hunt. Must have caught the bitch that has been harassing Vergil for the last month. Judging by the screeching, it looks like she decided to turn her bloodlust on the remaining demons nearby.

 

Dante’s absurd desire to protect Nero warms her where she’s most vulnerable, as the screams of the Rakshaka disrupt the calm of the night. Her sister’s demonic aura most project some kind of reassurance to her son, because as soon as Dante’s ecstatic laughs can be heard, Nero relaxes in her hold. Convenient, Dante’s arrival, because she can feel her inner temperature rising and her arm is starting to show the first symptoms of the toxin. Too tired to hold her devil trigger form, Vergil decides to lay in bed and wait for Dante to arrive. No other choice than to let the venom take its course. It’ll be inconvenient but it’ll pass.

 

Inevitably, shame curls like curdled milk in Vergil’s stomach. Even now, she can think of a hundred different ways this absurd situation could have been avoided. She can summon swords and have them travel in a blink of an eye; she can move so fast, space bends against her. How could she have let this happen? How can she be so weak? 

 

The answer becomes evident as Nero blinks owlishly at Vergil and reaches up towards her. Vergil feels like a softhearted idiot. 

 

Someone enters the house. Dante. Her sister’s voice reaches her warped, as if she were underwater. 

 

_“Ver― What happen― ?! Vergil!”_

 

Vergil still has baby puke in her hair and her vision is starting to swim, but now she can say with finality that she doesn’t regret anything.

 

*

 

These days not much can distress Dante. Back when she was only a kid, running and hiding had been her only option. What her mother wanted. When she had gotten strong enough it had been only logical, in her mind, to turn one of the things she enjoyed the most into profit: killing the motherfuckers that ruined her life. It’s only a bonus that Dante loves the rush of the fight, the fire that rages in her veins, the steady pulse of her demonic instincts that she tries so hard to suppress. It scares her, but after everything that Vergil has told her about understanding their inner demonic strength, it has been a little easier to accept. It’s a work in progress.

 

To clarify: a whole lot of demonic shit leaves her unfazed. 

 

But this? This is ridiculous. 

 

Dante looks at her own chest in dismay. How is this even happening? She isn’t supposed to be reacting this way. More importantly, what is she supposed to do now? Didn’t she say that she would help Vergil, not make her life worse? 

 

Nero doesn’t stop crying. 

 

At the bed, her sister looks ghastly. She is sweating and her eyes are glassy, a furious blush gracing her cheeks all the way down to her breast. Vergil hasn’t stopped shaking since that motherfucking Rakshaka had bitten her; it’s a good thing Dante had killed the remaining ones. She had tried her best to drain the venom but their blood could be counterproductive in times like this: the wound had closed so fast, she hadn’t been able to extract all of it in time. Vergil’s bitten arm looks horribly ill: veins blue and purple, a coagulated mess under her beautiful skin.

 

Nero lets out another furious wail. Dante feels like crying too. 

 

Think. She needed to think. Verge had put herself in harm’s way to protect Nero, so now she needed to do her part. Just their luck to be caught like this in a town in the middle of nowhere, with no one to ask for help. It wasn’t like Dante could ask any human to feed Nero anyways; they would probably be scared of his arm. Vergil was too incoherent to use Yamato and teleport back to Red Grave, where Dante had a better chance to find someone who could help. 

 

God, this was such a fucked up situation. Vergil would recover from it but it would take at least a day, and as Dante has noticed, her twin sister was nothing if not diligent: every three hours she breastfed her son, without fail.

 

Six hours had passed since Vergil fell ill.

 

He was obviously hungry, and Vergil couldn’t feed him in her state. He was so small, still couldn’t eat normal food according to the books Vergil has. Dante looks at her shirt once again, at the wet spots on her nipples and panic so great threatens to overwhelm her. 

 

How is this happening?! 

 

The solution was obvious but her mind wasn’t ready to accept the answer. Dante was sure this couldn’t be normal, not without intervention. There was something involving hormones, cycles; a whole lot of crap she never paid attention to because she was a woman who had zero interest in kids.  So how come she was lactating if the baby was Vergil’s?! 

 

At Vergil’s side, Nero hiccups and sobs, inconsolable, grasping anything he could get his hands on. Her twin sister, even in delirium, looks for him.

 

The solution was obvious. 

 

With trembling hands but steady steps, Dante went to the single bed. She had seen Vergil do this a hundred times and her instructions had been clear the first time Dante was allowed to hold him: a hand under his head, the other at the bottom. 

 

_You need to provide comfort,_ her sister’s voice sounded in her head. _Support his neck, nudge his head into your elbow._

 

_Gently, Dante, or I will gut you._

 

Once he was as comfortable as possible in her arms, Dante opened her shirt. She couldn’t believe she was doing this. 

 

Nero, hungry little demon spawn, had all the instincts necessary for survival it seemed. He attached to her immediately, sucking greedily. Dante gasped at the sensation; it was so intense she was sure she couldn’t do this standing. Carefully, she took a seat at the head of the bed, beside Vergil’s trembling body.  It was incredible that her sister could do this everyday and not feel overwhelmed by it. Once Nero stopped crying, Vergil visibly relaxed, her eyes closing and soon, the trembling subsided. 

 

Dante wished she could do more, but the venom would pass on its own, and after sleeping, Vergil would wake feeling like new. She would survive the whole ordeal with only a little bit of damaged pride that Dante will not take advantage of. Meanwhile, Dante can only look after Nero and deal with her own existential crisis later. 

 

Afterwards, earlier than Dante expected, Vergil awakens. She does so sluggish  and disoriented, but immediately starts searching for Nero. When Dante touches her shoulder softly, Vergil looks back at her. Her eyes take on Dante’s form: Nero in her arms, sleeping soundly, seated right by her side. 

 

“Welcome back, sister.”

 

“... How’s Nero?” Vergil asks, hand steady when she touches her baby’s hand. He doesn’t wake up, but still clenches his fist around her index finger. 

 

“I, uh, managed to feed him, so he’s just sleeping,” Dante says, self-conscious. Vergil must still be in the last stages of her episode, because she doesn’t question it. 

 

After a couple of minutes pass, Dante believes Vergil’s fallen asleep again. Instead, she surprises her with her words.

 

“You’re right. I need help,” Vergil says. There is a pause in which Dante’s mouth falls open in her surprise.Vergil doesn’t even acknowledge her, before continuing. 

 

“This isn’t something I can do on my own. I’m barely twenty, can’t stand little kids on a good day, you have already saved him two times. You― ,” Vergil stumbles with her words, doesn’t let go of Nero, absently caressing his hand. “You’re right.” 

 

Vergil has never accepted she’s wrong. Ever. 

 

“ _Vergil―.”_

 

“Now that my enemy is dead, we can go back to Red Grave and find a suitable place. I’ll find a way to procure money and take care of Nero, you can work in your devil hunter business as you wanted―.” 

 

“Vergil!”

 

She finally shuts up. Her stupid, overachieving sister. To see her lay off her pride, if only for Nero’s sake, gives Dante the dangerous hope that maybe not all is lost. Maybe she can have her family again. 

 

Hope is a fragile thing. When it shatters, its edges cut deeply, burying under the skin. That kind of wound never heals right.

 

“I only want to be part of your life and Nero’s.” She needs to be clear with Vergil. Dante looks at her sister firmly, places Nero back into her arms. The little monster cuddles against her chest, and this kind of picture ties a knot in Dante’s chest. Their mother would have loved to meet Nero. Her nephew. 

 

It hurts. This hope hurts. Dante’s pride is an enormous thing, almost as big as Vergil’s, but Nero is a little kid who didn’t ask to be born into this fucked up mess of a family; Dante will humble herself for his sake too.  

 

“Whatever we do, I’ll be okay as long as I can stay by you side,” Dante says. 

 

For the first time since the start of her search, Dante can feel herself relax; there are no more demons for miles, no more crazy, vengeful witches. Only Vergil, Nero and Dante; the last of Sparda’s accursed bloodline, surviving day by day with the jagged edges of a sibling rivalry that makes less sense by the minute. Vergil doesn’t say a thing, only curls herself around Nero’s small body. 

 

It’s a testament of her sister’s fragility in this moment: she lets Dante lay down on the bed, Nero between the two of them. They sleep together for the first time in ten years. 

 

*

 

It’s all well and good to be with her sister again (not just letting her tag along, truly together), but there are certain things that Dante can’t simply ignore.

 

Apparently what happened to Dante is “only nature”, Vergil explains. 

 

“This is just a guess, but it seems like your body was induced into it,” she says, nonchalantly, as she cleans Nero with the limited water from the basin in the small bathroom. “Sometimes, in the wilderness, mature females will help with the nursing of the younger ones, even if they aren’t pregnant themselves.”

 

Dante stares numbly at them. Little Nero chirps in delight as Vergil covers him with a fluffy towel and carries him. 

 

“B-but!” Dante protests. 

 

Her sister merely raises an eyebrow at her. 

 

“Do elaborate, my dear Dante.” 

 

Dante blushes. Vergil hasn’t called her that in forever, not even in a demeaning manner. All this nursing bullshit has fucked up her head. 

 

“I’m not even… He isn’t even― .” 

 

Mine _._

 

_He isn’t mine. He’s ours. He’s Vergil’s. He’s mine, and she’s too. I’m just the crazy aunt. I fed our child, I looked over my mate’s body, I have claimed her―_

 

“Dante, control yourself.” 

 

Vergil looks at her intently, Dante blinks dazedly back. Nero, oblivious to the pressure or maybe used to it by now, clings to his mother as always. His arm is glowing faintly, probably reacting to Dante’s demonic aura. Vergil says nothing else as she attends to the mundane task of clothing him and it strikes Dante just then, how is Vergil so adept at this? How is she so calm and collected, her twin, who last time had showed disdain so deep against humanity that it broke something irreparable in Dante? Her gestures are efficient but that’s not all there is to it; she doesn’t play with him, doesn’t coo at him, talks to him in precise words and sentences but something is off.

 

Moreover, why is Dante being so possessive of someone who never belonged to her at all? Is this about Nero or Vergil? Why then, even though she’s seen her sister protect Nero, fight for him, bleed for him, suffer for him; why does it feel like something is lacking? 

 

Is Vergil containing herself?

 

Dante desperately wants to hold Nero again, or maybe to hold them both. To control her urges, she heads back to the main room, checking for the third time that everything is in order and ready to go.  Now is not the time to worry about such a thing— finding a proper place for Nero is the top priority. They have been traveling together for barely two weeks and it was obvious that Vergil needed stability. 

 

It was fortunate, then, that her new contact, Morrison, called her recently. It seemed like he had found an ideal place for them and their business.

 

Who knows? Maybe Dante is looking too deep into it. Things with Vergil are going as smoothly as she can hope them to: no dismemberment, no swords to the gut. Dante’s only worry should be whether her business can provide for the three of them and her daily intake of pizza.

 

They’ve done enough running. It’s time to head back. 

 

*

 

From her bedroom, Dante can hear the soft noise of Vergil’s footsteps, moving about in their home. The place is big but in need of a lot of repairs. They only own two full beds (one unusable, without a mattress), a fridge, a stove, a single couch and an obsolete but somehow still working telephone. Their old home is close by, so Dante resolves to go back later and rescue what she can: books for Vergil; stands and seals for her Devil Arms; anything that could be sold to buy essentials, clothes, food, all the little amenities that provide comfort.

 

Little Nero needs so many things and Dante can physically feel Vergil’s agitation rising with each passing day. He’s a temperamental monster that craves attention like he craves air. Nero is only eight months old, but he’s already much stronger than a normal human baby. It’s not like Dante has much by way of baby knowledge to make such a comparison, but she’s quite sure a normal kid doesn’t have the motor skills that he has at his age, see: grabbing every single thing at length (included but not limited to) deadly guns and blades. 

 

It doesn’t help that even since arriving at Red Grave, most nights Nero cries his lungs out or demands a playmate. He's a fussy, hard to please little demon, and every time it happens Dante can hear as Vergil tries her best to coax him to sleep. Sometimes it works; most of the time she fails. 

 

The bags under her eyes seem darker than ever, her patience so close to snapping that Dante can almost hear the strain of it. 

 

“We should share,” Dante says.

 

Vergil blinks, bewildered. In her arms, Nero finally rests. It’s three in the morning and Dante could have talked to her sister about this when the both of them are better rested, but if she doesn’t say this now she’s going to regret it later.

 

Her silence can only mean Dante needs to explain herself. 

 

“I mean, look at you” Dante says, and before Vergil can take offense, she continues. “We should share the hunting business and taking care of Nero.” 

 

“... Where does this come from?” Vergil asks. In her pajamas, seated on their second-hand couch and a child on her arms, Vergil looks vulnerable. Human. Dante never thought she could have the chance to see her twin again like this. A long strand of her hair rests on her face. Dante must control the impulse to move it out of the way.

 

“You need to take a break.” Dante looks at Vergil, noticing that she’s getting angry. She hurries to amend: 

 

“Listen, we can take turns! I can feed him too so it won’t be a problem, yeah? I have learned a lot from you too.” She can feel her own face burn. 

 

Ever since the  Rakshaka’s attack, her breasts keep misbehaving (she refuses to call it anything else) and since Vergil desperately needs to get out, Dante is ready to make a new sacrifice for her.

 

Lately it seems like that’s all she’s been doing. Sacrifices for Vergil’s sake, for Nero’s sake.

 

Dante sighs as she seats herself beside her sister.  “Look, just go out and breathe some fresh air; put on your best clothes, your dark lipstick. Go kill something. You’ll feel better.”

 

Vergil doesn’t say anything. They stay there, seated beside each other, at this godforsaken hour, trying to put a life together. Dante doesn’t know why she even tries anymore, Vergil is just so stubborn― 

 

“Alright, let’s try it your way.” 

 

Dante blinks. “Buh?” 

 

Her sister lets out a long suffering _“Dante…”_ , she gets closer so their thighs are touching and lays down Nero, cradled by both their legs. At least one of them is sleeping, she thinks.

 

“We’ll cover more ground, and have more time for ourselves.” Vergil says, caressing Nero’s head. “It will benefit all of us.” 

 

Dante can’t help herself: a smile blooms on her face. She beams at Vergil with happiness that completely overtakes her, rising from the bottom of her heart. Her sister looks at her with surprise carved out of her severe visage. The contrast must be funny to an outsider: Dante, vibrating with joy; Vergil, usually so austere and cold, astonished for once; the both of them wearing the same face.

 

Dante loves. She loves and against all her fears, takes her sister’s left hand on her own. Vergil startles, but doesn’t make an effort to let go or stab Dante with her blade— a nice upgrade from months ago. 

 

Here is the ugly truth that they still ignore: the fiery passion that burns between them. How Dante can categorize every single line of her twin’s face, identical but intrinsically different from her own; the shadow of snowy eyelashes over her eyes, the bow of her pink lips, the curve of her spine. 

 

It's desire. She feels herself melt in the face of Vergil’s presence, but she must hold on— now is not the time. 

 

“It’ll work out, sis. You’ll see.” Dante says softy, squeezing her sister’s hand a little bit. Vergil purses her lips, frowns, but doesn’t let go. 

 

*

 

It says a lot about Dante’s nature that sometimes (very sparingly, maybe once a year), she has good ideas. 

 

Vergil stands, satisfied, as she sheathes the Yamato with a flourish. Behind her, the remains of a Rage nest lies destroyed, a mess of viscera and blood that leave her inner demon purring in delight. Normally she doesn’t let herself get as messy, for it goes against her technique and code, but extenuating circumstances demand her to indulge in the carnage.

 

An aberrant drop of blood stains her upper lip and she licks it absentmindedly. 

 

Finally, quiet. Peace. She breathes deep and lets go of it slowly. The factory stinks of iron, sulfur, slaughter. But that’s acceptable; nothing but a deserving finale for such low creatures. 

 

The trade with the client goes quickly, if a little less smoothly than she expected. Apparently the man believed Dante would be doing the job and, by default, he would be taking advantage of her sister’s generous disposition: she was going to accept half the pay in cash and the other half in the form of an antique jukebox. 

 

This pig dares to look at her with vaguely concealed hunger. Vergil hates him on principle.

 

“How about this,” Vergil says, moving in a blur and pressing Yamato’s edge with delicate accuracy on the man’s jugular, “you give me full pay _and_ the jukebox, and in exchange you can leave with your life.” 

 

He nods in trepidation, sweat staining the armpits of his cheap suit, as he shoves a paper bag into her hands, gets up from his ridiculous desk, and leaves his own office in a rush.  There is a stench of piss and half rotten food; the office’s garish wallpaper is starting to hurt her eyes.

 

After diligently counting the money and finding the pay in full, Vergil looks at the absurd machine conspicuously waiting in a corner. For a second, she feels tempted to leave it behind. However, it would be a disservice to Dante, who has been nothing if not attentive: cleans Nero’s messes and half of her own (an improvement from their childhood), changes his diapers, plays with him, takes him out and works tirelessly to give him a better quality of life. Now, their home (and isn’t that incredible? A home _family_ with Dante, after everything) has a front desk for their devil hunting business, a furnished room for her son, utilities in full; even a library and bedroom for Vergil. 

 

Distantly, she thinks about her ambitions: what about Sparda’s power? Maybe they are safe now, but how long is it going to last? Fear unlike nothing else ices her veins, and an image of her son comes to mind. Sweet Nero, whom she learned to love. Dante, who she always believed had abandoned their legacy and who their mother always prefered, trying so hard for the two of them.

 

Her hand tightens on Yamato’s hilt, and she wonders. 

 

With efficiency, she cuts the fabric of space and resolves to think about this later. With little effort she lifts the absurd machine and takes it home with her. A small price to pay for Dante’s comfort. 

 

*

 

Vergil doesn’t mean to stare, but it happens. 

 

It’s a slow, humid, incredibly hot day. No clients in this horrible weather. Soft jazz spills from the jukebox. The ceiling fan spins lazilly, the fastest it can apparently go, moving an air current that leaves her more feverish than refreshed. Dante, who has absolutely no decency, rests shirtless and in her underwear on what has become her favorite piece of furniture: the couch under the fan. 

 

“Man, I wish I had a strawberry sundae…” she says, as she absently bounces Nero on her legs. Her son squeals in delight. 

 

Vergil, from her seat at the desk, tries to ignore the bounce of Dante’s breasts, and think of other more important things: the electrical bill is coming up, someone needs to go do grocery shopping, routine weapon maintenance needs to be done today. Her eyes betray her once again as she notices a stray bead of sweat, following its tenuous course from Dante’s brow, all the way down her neck to the curve of her bosom. It rests there, caressing her sinuous form, at the mercy of the erratic dynamic of Dante’s movements. 

 

Her mouth waters. Vergil crosses her legs, uncrosses them, notices with detachment how her pulse steadily rises. Dante, oblivious, fans herself with her magazine. Vergil lets her eyes go a little lower, to the shadow of her abs, the simple white cotton that covers her groin, the creamy white of her inner thighs.

 

Nero, now bored and sleepy, abandons the game and resolves to rest on the other corner of the couch. When he sleeps, it’s with the heaviness that only children can embrace; he will not rise again for at least an hour. 

 

When her gaze moves back up, she notices that Dante is watching her back. 

 

Her gaze is smoldering. Unlike Vergil, she doesn’t care to dissimulate, lets her eyes roam where she pleases. Vergil couldn’t stand her usual attire in this heat; only a small blue dress covers her form, but the way Dante looks at her makes her feel as if she’s naked.

Her sister stares and stares and her gaze is like chains, binding her in place. Dante licks her lips as she gets up, walks with a calm that can only belong to a predator. Vergil can’t help following her movements, until she has to look up to not break eye contact. 

 

Distantly, she can hear a man sing about love.

 

“Hey babe,” Dante says. She takes the paper in Vergil hands and carelessly tosses it aside, makes herself comfortable between her twin's legs . 

 

Dante runs her hands through Vergil’s long hair, scratches her scalp softly. Vergil grabs her sister by the waist, takes her time appreciating the boundary between her underwear and the planes of skin, free for her to touch and explore. She can even smell Dante’s eagerness. If she where to touch, Vergil is sure she would feel the patch of wetness that rests between the folds of her sister’s cunt. 

 

Dante was always so easy to provoke.

 

“You’re eager, sister” Vergil says. 

 

Dante smiles hungrily, biting her lower lip. She knows exactly where this is going. Has been waiting for months, really, but better not let Vergil know. 

 

“I haven’t even said anything,” Dante retorts. 

 

“Let’s say I go upstairs then,” Vergil says, like it doesn’t mean anything. Her hands move to grasp and squeeze Dante’s ass.

 

“ _Ah._ And what would you do there?” Dante asks, and a soft sigh escapes her at Vergil’s touch.  

 

“Maybe take a bath.” Vergil presses a delicate kiss on her navel. It spreads shivers over Dante’s skin. “What would you want me to do?” 

 

“I know exactly what _I_ wanna do.”

 

Charged silence hangs above them. Vergil tastes the anticipation.

 

“Do tell, Dante.” 

 

Dante watches Vergil intently, desire burning her from within. Slowly, she bends to her sister’s level and moves her mouth just besides Vergil’s ear, takes her time inhaling her scent: perfume, sweat, demonic lust. 

 

“I wanna eat you out,” she whispers.

 

It was only natural. Meant to happen, truth be told. There was no way that Vergil could coexist in the same space as Dante without them falling into this pattern. All the difficulties of finding a home and making it habitable from scratch, without a penny to their name, with a child and years of abandonment and resentment between them. Of petty rivalry and clashing ideals. It all vanished the moment the two of them were together, behind closed doors;  the world far away, if only for an hour. 

 

_Is this weakness?_ Vergil wonders, as Dante lays her on the bed, kissing her deeply. 

 

_Is it worth it?_ Dante hikes up her dress and frees one of her breasts, delicately bites her nipple. Vergil moans softly as her twin continues caressing and worshiping every inch of skin available: with her mouth, her hands, her gaze. 

 

Cathartic, to touch her sister again. Dante, true to her word, starts her descent towards Vergil’s groin. 

 

_Will I lose everything again?_ She still thinks when Dante removes her underwear and kisses the delicate skin of her inner thighs; when she breathes in the scent of her sex. Vergil grabs her by the hair and guides her where she wants it.

 

Finally, Dante starts tasting her, and Vergil stops thinking at all. 

 

* 

 

If love were a weapon, Vergil thinks, it would probably work like so: it pierces you as a harpoon does, leaves you bleeding, irremediably ties you to its source; when you try to take it out, it brings everything else with it. The ugly and the beautiful, the innocent and the iniquitous; everything that you try to hide, every insecurity, every deception. Your innermost thoughts, spilling like pennies from your  pockets― there for everyone to steal. The wound it leaves is so deep, no demonic healing can close it.

 

Afterglow had only lasted a couple of minutes, just about as long as Vergil could stand the devotion of Dante’s fiery soul. If she stayed any longer, she feared what she would do. Maybe something irreparable that couldn’t be mistaken for anything but the truth. At least she had an excuse to take her bath after all. After putting on a new change of clothes, she decides to check on her son― Nero still sleeps, unbothered, at the couch. 

 

The clock tells Vergil that exactly ten minutes pass before she hears Dante’s footsteps down the stairs. She apparently decided to take a bath as well: her hair is still wet, dripping over her shirt and onto the floor. A walking hazard, her sister, and the first harpoon in Vergil’s heart. The second one sleeps, oblivious, barely a year old and with a full life ahead of him. 

 

Maybe if it were only Dante, she could deal with the pain of ripping it out; what she was planning with the demon tower would have surely done so. Even before the tower, back when they had found and ravaged each other, Vergil had been sure that it was what needed to be done. 

 

To protect Dante. To avenge their family and fulfill her legacy as Sparda’s progeny and firstborn. It was a price worth the pain. Dante probably will never understand, but it wasn’t like she needed to at the time. 

 

But what about now? 

 

Standing in what serves as the agency’s lobby, Vergil takes a minute to once again appreciate the place that she now calls home. This home that is still a work in progress; this child that clings to her and to Dante. Nero, who always greets her with a smile, even as Vergil struggles to show love as she should; dear Nero, who laughs with delight every time Dante spins him in circles to the beat of the jukebox’s music. Lazy Sunday afternoons with no missions, were Vergil takes her time trying to understand how to make the dishes that her mother used to love: roasted orange chicken, minestrone soups, blueberry pie. 

 

She isn’t paying attention when it happens, but Dante hugs her from behind. Slowly, tentatively; as if dealing with a scared animal. Dante’s skin is warm from the bath, her arms firm and reassuring. Vergil can feel an unfamiliar but entirely distinctive pressure rising behind her eyes as she watches every breath her son takes. No one had hugged her like this since she was but a child.

 

Sunlight spills from between the blinds. Dust particles float in the air. Dante puts their cheeks together and holds her. 

 

Vergil loves; it slowly kills her. 

 

“Tell me something, sister” Vergil says.

 

Dante hums her assent. 

 

“Is it always this painful?” she asks, gripping the arms at her midsection with what she can only hope isn’t interpreted as desperation. 

 

Dante says nothing for a moment; her twin releases her breath slowly as she ponders the question.

 

“I think it will only cause you pain if you want it to,” Dante says. 

 

They stay there for a moment, the weight of the unsaid hanging above them. This fragile life between them, barely starting, but so full of promise. Vergil is still learning, hasn’t forgotten the untold threat of Mundus’ looming over the horizon, but she has come to accept that if they’re to fall, it will be together and protecting Nero. She can only hope to kill the bastard when the time comes.  To think that the demon that killed their family could ever lay his hands on her son, it’s the last push needed for the tears to fall.

 

“Are you crying, Vergil?” Dante asks, even as she feels the wetness against her face.

 

“Foolishness, Dante. Devils never cry.”

 

Dante laughs, rubs her face against Vergil’s. “But a devil may cry when she loves someone  enough, don’t you think?”

 

Vergil lets herself smile when Dante playfully kisses her tears away. 

 

“Maybe.” 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. 
> 
> Just so you guys know, I'm the same author of Somnia, Memoriae, I will post all my DMC work on this account. Same as last time, [sootandshadow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sootandshadow/pseuds/sootandshadow) was my beta and I, without a doubt, owe her my life. 
> 
> I would also like to credit [Melasa](https://twitter.com/melasa24304649)!! The gorgeous fanart above was her work, and worth every penny. Her rendition of female Vergil and Dante are as I picture them in this story. 
> 
> Don't hesitate to comment if you're curious about anything! Any feedback is welcome c: I appreciate it. I'll probably post other oneshots where I can show you a bit more of their lives, so if you're interested keep your eyes open. 
> 
> Finally, all my love to the Spardacest Discord Server. They're the true enablers of my work. 
> 
> See you guys next time!


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